Stock up now!

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Want to talk about today’s storm? That might be difficult. Wordsmiths are woefully unprepared for the hyperbole-shortage caused by Jonas. (By the way, since when do non-hurricanes get names?) A completely unscientific survey showed that New Yorkers heeded warnings about emergency preparedness – for some things. In my local grocery store, for example, one woman at the checkout bought maybe three dozen individual-serving pudding containers. If Jonas decimates the nation’s sugar supply, she’s ready.

The real shortage, I’ve concluded after listening to the radio, watching television, and reading news reports, is hyperbole. If you want an extreme term for today’s weather, dictionary shelves are nearly bare. Stocks of “snowmageddon” were the first to be depleted. Only a few “storm of the century” phrases are left, but, in a rare show of restraint, several barrels of “storm of the millennium” are still available.

On the adjective/adverb front, as you might expect, supplies of “extremely dangerous,” “gale-force,” “zero” (as in “zero chance,” “zero visibility,” etc.) and “whiteout” are running low. The number of cartons of “super” is declining, despite the unusually large supply ordered for a football game in early February. Just one box of “killer” is still available.

Trite comments, too, are fast running out. “Stay home” and “beware of slippery roads and sidewalks” are no longer available, but diligent shoppers may find one or two “bundle ups” and “baby it’s cold outside” at premium prices. Rumor has it that a few would-be wordsmiths turned to Canada for help, but the only available terms from the north were “a little weather” and just plain “snow.”

Moral of the story: Make like a boy scout. Be prepared. Stock up on hype now, before the next storm of the millennium hits.

You talking to me? at me? or with me?

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New Yorkers wait “on line” (when they’re not cutting ahead, which is impolite – and yes, lady at the supermarket yesterday, I’m talking to you). The rest of the US waits “in line” (most likely, more politely than New Yorkers). In the UK, something may be “different to” something else, but in the US it’s “different from.” In other words, prepositions – on, in, to, from, and many other relational words – slide all over the map. If you don’t know the customary regional preposition for a phrase, you can end up with a meaning you did not intend. And, I should point out, sometimes a preposition may lead to confusion everywhere.

Take this sign (please):

Note the poinsettia in the background.

Note the flower and leaves in the background.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

These words appear on (in?) the window of a dry cleaning shop. I’m betting that the sign is an attempt to say that your clothes won’t be shipped to another state but instead be cleaned and pressed right there. The sign should probably say “all work done in our plant” or “on the premises.” Instead, the sign implies that workers are fertilizing, watering, snipping dead leaves, and doing other routine chores “on our plant.” Right behind the sign, by the way, are two poinsettias. They look like they need some work.

Check out this one:

Business with?

Business with?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

This sign makes me picture a business meeting between an animated, talking, Disneyesque building and whoever uses this service entrance. After all, the sign specifies “approved business with this property.” Not with the owners, the residents, or the staff on or in or at this property. “With this property” has a nice ring to it, though, and raises a number of questions. Can a property negotiate business deals? Is this property, a large and elegant structure, harder to do business with than, say, a small brownstone or a five-storey tenement? Send your theories at me. Or to me. Maybe towards me.

 

Don’t Mess with a Grandma

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I more or less gave up on apostrophes a long time ago. There seems to be a cosmic jar filled with this punctuation mark, which writers shake over their texts, letting apostrophes fall willy-nilly into words. Thus I ignored this sign, which shoves an apostrophe into a plural, where it does not belong:

Tuesday's. Sigh.

Tuesday’s. Sigh.

Some grammarians call this usage a “greengrocer’s apostrophe.” (Notice the correct use of the possessive apostrophe in the term, which names a punctuation error.) Why “greengrocer’s”? My opinion, based on no research whatsoever, is that people who use this term believe a shopkeeper (greengrocer) is more likely than a non-business owner to insert apostrophes into plurals. That belief doesn’t match my experience. If I stacked all the student essays, term papers, and other writing I graded and corrected during my teaching career, the top of the pile would be within spitting distance of the moon and maybe even topple over onto a moon rock or two. Nearly all of those writing efforts included a “greengrocer’s apostrophe,” and none of the students were grocers, though many were (environmentally) green.

Though I scarcely glance at extra apostrophes, I did stop short when I saw this sign:

Granny

Granny’s combative.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The color difference between the first and last pair of lines initially led me to believe that the tavernkeeper was making a statement about grandmothers and their alleged capacity to slug someone. But I’m a grandmother, and though sorely tempted at times, I have never punched anyone. Then I noticed that no punctuation appeared anywhere at all. Perhaps the sign is a statement about grannies’ tendency to wallop cocktails, I mused. (Sidepoint: There are hot cocktails? Who knew! ) The image of grandmothers bopping martinis, mimosas, and other drinks made me wonder whether a new temperance movement was brewing. I still don’t know what the sign means. Just to be safe, I have one piece of advice: Don’t mess with a grandma, especially when she’s drinking.

Shop for . . .

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Who’s selling what, and where? The answers to those questions should be fairly obvious. Should be, but aren’t, as evidenced by the signs of New York, which increasingly appear to be written by people who assume we’re all clueless. In another post, found at http://www.grammarianinthecity.com/?p=735, I discuss a sign explaining that the drugstore has a “pharmacy dep’t. within.” (Oh good. I hate when pharmacists fill prescriptions on the sidewalk.) On the other end of the huh? spectrum is a “Sidewalk Sale Inside” sign. (See it at http://www.grammarianinthecity.com/?p=620).)

And then there’s the issue of what, exactly, is for sale. What would you purchase in this shop?

At least they're not roaming around the sidewalk.

At least the little guys are not roaming around the sidewalk.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I should point out that every item in the store windows, and everything visible behind the windows, was an article of clothing meant for small humans. These questions arise: (1) Why the imperative statement “SHOP”? Does this mean that “just looking” is grounds for ejection? (2) Why the plural noun “kids” and the singular noun “baby”? (3) Aren’t babies kids? So why “kids and baby”? (4) As the sidewalk outside the store was empty, why mention “inside”? I’m not discussing the missing noun “clothing.” The idea of shopping for people is too terrible to joke about.

Here’s another. Are you a big fan of holidays? If so, you may wish to purchase this one, at half price:

How much is New Year's?

How much is New Year’s?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Think of the licensing fees you can collect next December! And here I thought the Christmas shopping season began right after Halloween. I guess it begins now, in early January, with the holiday itself on sale. Go for it!

 

Air, Scare, or Simply There

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My almost-seven-year-old granddaughter has recently discovered air quotes, the curly-fingered gesture that encloses spoken words in quotation marks. To make an air quote, you bend the pointer and middle fingers of each hand a couple of times, and whoever is listening or watching is supposed to know that you’ve distanced yourself from whatever you’ve just said.  Air quotes are the bodily equivalent of scare quotes, the punctuation marks in written material that separate the writer from the quotation, as in don’t blame me for this dumb opinion or yeah, like I believe that. Both scare and air quotes are gestures of irony or sarcasm. Usually, that is. During my first year of teaching about a million years ago, I used air quotes to tell the class that I was quoting from a text, not using my own words. I didn’t find out until June (June!) that the kids perceived a particularly nerdy wave, not a punctuation mark. Sigh.

My granddaughter tosses out air quotes with abandon. (“I’m ‘nice’ and so are you,” she’ll say with active fingers, meaning that she and I are actually “nice.”) She enjoys the gesture more than its significance. No problem. She’s little and deserves time to experiment. I’m not sure the creator of this sign should receive the same leeway:

Come again?

Come again?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I snapped this photo during New Year’s weekend, when this store and everything around it was closed for celebration or recovery from celebration. I’m still not sure what it means. Is the shop expecting a door bell delivery? Is someone hiding out inside, waiting for a package and not coming forth until the door bell rings? Does the shop owner know that the door bell is broken and “door bell” is a useless phrase?

I’m sure the letter carrier or package deliverer liked the John Hancock squiggle under the last line. I’m also sure that everyone reading this sign pressed the door bell, just to see what would happen. (I did. Nothing happened.) But that’s it. I’m sure of nothing else – certainly not the meaning.  The sign is a mystery. Or maybe I should say a “mystery.” Your theories are welcome – really welcome, not “welcome.”

Hold on, Holden

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On a NYC bus recently, I watched a toddler bounce from seat to seat, across the aisle, and over feet and backpacks – all without realizing that (a) he was endangering himself and (b) he was totally annoying everyone else. Everyone but his caregiver, that is, who was busy texting and who contributed nothing more to the situation than an occasional “settle down,” murmured to the screen, which presumably paid as little attention to her words as did the toddler, who limited himself to “no,” shouted often and earnestly. I contemplated the little sign that appears on every NYC bus, explaining that “assaulting a bus operator is a felony.”

Only bus drivers?

Only bus drivers?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

What about assaulting a toddler, I mused. Felony? Misdemeanor? Was I willing to risk a misdemeanor to achieve a quiet ride? (I’m kidding. Really. I’d never hit a kid, or anyone else for that matter.)

Finally, the texter rose to leave, calling, “Holden, this is our stop!” as she grabbed his hand. Holden – famously rebellious protagonist of Salinger’s “The Catcher in the Rye.” Yup, I thought. Perfect name for the future juvenile delinquent, who someday can rightfully plead neglectful parenting as an excuse for bad behavior.

But I digress. The point of this post is actually a recent study about language acquisition and children, inspired by Holden’s repeated shouts of “no.” Researchers found that worldwide, most kids say “no” much earlier (and more frequently) than “yes.” Why? Well, common sense provides the answer. Who would bother answering a caregiver cooing, “Baby want a toy?” If the baby wants a toy, the baby takes it. “No,” on the other hand, serves a purpose. A positive action is easy to perform, a negative not so much.

My experience with Holden has led me to change my habits: Faced again with an unruly toddler, I now put on my best teacher face, stare at the kid, and quietly hiss, “No.” Invariably, the kid subsides, the caregiver continues texting, the other bus riders smile, and the journey continues. No misdemeanors or felonies necessary.

Now if I could only get this technique to work on sidewalk-bicyclists.

Facing the new year

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Closing out 2015, I find three signs aptly express my feelings about this season. First:

Ten fingers? Check. Ten toes? Ditto.

Ten fingers? Check. Ten toes? Ditto. Sanity? Doubtful.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I checked the definition of “checkout,” which involves a summing up of obligations and payment thereof.  This sign caught my eye, and not only because it signals a further decline in customer service. (I’ve just completed two transcontinental airline flights, so that topic is on much my mind.)  What drew me is the “self” portion of the sign. January approaches, and like the Roman god Janus (who was probably not the source of the name “January”), I look both forward and back. But mostly I look inward, to “checkout” the state of my “self.” I won’t place my findings here – too private – nor will I stop as January ends. The unexamined life is not my style. Obsessive worrying, alas, is. (And yes, compulsive snark, too.)

Here’s the second sign:

To where?

To where?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I could insert a wish here – that the sign not be a prediction of my, your, or our collective future. But a daily dose of The New York Times shows, beyond a doubt, that a “rough road” is likely for all of us. Nor in good conscience can I insert a platitude – something about life’s bumps strengthening character. Sometimes life’s bumps lead only to bruises. Yet Yogi Berra – the late, great Yankee catcher and creative grammarian – gave good advice: When you come to a fork in the road, take it. Rough or not. After all, what’s the alternative?

Finally, no new year (and no New Year’s post) would be complete without a resolution. Mine begins with this sign:

Who wants to be "the top bell"?

Who wants to be “the top bell”?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I saw this sign behind a construction fence enclosing access to the Second Avenue Subway. It contains, in my opinion, the coolest job title ever. I resolve to become, by the end of this new year, “the top bell.” Whatever that is.

 

Grade D+

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I’ve written elsewhere (“Missing and Presumed” at http://www.grammarianinthecity.com/?p=311) about dropping the letter D from expressions such as “grill cheese,” “old fashion,” and “never close, open 24/7.” This sign has the opposite problem:

Grilled and Deli Man

Grilled and Deli Man

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Reflected light mars the photo, so to clarify, the store is hiring a “Delivery, Cashier, Grilled & Deli Man.” If I take the noun “man” as the center of this statement from a non-equal-opportunity- employer, the other words serve as modifiers. So the store seeks a “delivery man,” a “cashier man” (turning the noun “cashier” into an adjective), and a “grilled and deli man.”

The last phrase leads me to a couple of questions. Does an applicant have to submit proof that detectives placed him in a windowless room under a bright lamp where they grilled him for hours about, presumably, his qualifications for working in a deli? I can hear the boss now: “Pre-grilled applicants save interview time.” Or is the shop hiring a man who has spent some time over charcoal? I shudder at that last possibility. I shudder at the spelling/grammar error too, but less. Much less.

Speechless in New York

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It takes a lot to shut New Yorkers up, especially this one. But every once in a while I see a photo that leaves me speechless. Here’s one, sent by my friend Jacqueline:

Pork for Hanukkah?

Pork for Hanukkah?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The only way to deepen the irony would be to add a shrimp cocktail appetizer. (For those unfamiliar with Jewish dietary laws, neither pork nor shrimp is kosher.)

One more, from a barber shop:

You have to ask for scissors?

You have to ask for scissors?

 

I won’t comment on “hair line clean up,” though that line makes me picture barbers with pointy sticks and trash bags, patrolling the border between forehead and hair, like work-release prisoners on a garbage-strewn beach. Instead, I’ll focus on the middle line. I know little about barbering tools, and my “stylist,” who refrains from sighing when he asks if I want “the usual” during my thrice yearly visits, snips away with scissors automatically.  So I’m perplexed. If you don’t request scissors at this salon, how does the barber cut your hair? With a lawn mower? A scythe?

Okay, I wasn’t speechless after all. If you aren’t either, please feel free to add your comments.

Woof

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Most of my posts are about two-footed New Yorkers, but this one concerns those traveling on four feet – actually, four paws. What do you make of this sign, painted on the window of a store specializing in wireless communication devices?

"Proud to be . . . dog friendly"

“Proud to be . . . dog friendly.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Does this mean that the phones are chew-resistant or taste like premium dog chow? That they transmit every nuance of “arf arf” with perfect clarity? That the keyboard letters are far enough apart for paw-typing? I pondered these questions as I stared at the window. My first theory was that the store allows dogs inside, perhaps handing out chew toys or meaty bones. I considered the fact that lots of stores brag about their welcoming attitude to customers’ dogs.  But those signs are usually smaller and located near the doorknob or handle. This one takes up a good portion of the shop window. Letting Fido into the establishment would seem to merit a less prominent sign. I still don’t know why it’s there, and I’m too shy to go in and ask.

This one is much smaller and located in the usual spot for such notices, right on the door. But it’s still strange:

Everyone else's pets - come on in!

Everyone else’s pets – come on in!

 

The sign suggests that employees’ pets are banned, but customers’ pets are “allowed in the store.” What do you think?